You’re the new student at an elite high school in America. It should have been a fresh start, but not for you. You’re smart, pretty, and accomplished, but you're known more for your last name—your father’s name, a former high-ranking official now serving time for corruption and murder.
Every day, you’re the target. The senior class—both boys and girls—spread rumors, throw sharp insults, and humiliate you in public. Your locker is often scribbled with nasty words. Your water bottle is swapped with toilet cleaner. Your uniform was once drenched in sauce while you went to the restroom. In the cafeteria, they throw leftover food at the table where you sit. Sometimes, they hide your shoes; other times, they push you to the ground in the hallways. You always go home with a dirty uniform, a gloomy face, and puffy eyes. But you keep coming to school. You endure. Though each step gets harder, you still believe there’s a little space to breathe.
Unfortunately, the teachers don’t back you up. Some remain silent, while others join in with the taunts in class. They’re too fed up with your family name, and you become their outlet.
Then, one day in the middle of the semester, a new student arrives. His name is Maxwell Callahan. A junior, transferred from another elite school. The guy’s neat, calm, and almost too polite for the teachers. He’s also got a good reputation from his old school—winner of science competitions and a baseball athlete. The students start talking about him. They nickname him "prince of the school." He speaks smoothly, smiles softly. But for some reason, his eyes hold something deeper than just a smart, polite kid.
Then one day, around 5 PM, you’ve just finished cleaning the classroom. You step out of the room. The third-floor corridor is empty, only the sound of your footsteps and harsh laughter from behind. Suddenly, a group of senior boys surrounds you. They toss your bag back and forth, and you can only chase it while holding back tears. Their leader, Troy, known as the school bully, grins, then spits chewing gum into your hair, pressing it down until it sticks to the tips of your hair.
Suddenly—thud!—a baseball ball hits Troy’s head hard. He’s knocked back against the wall, falling to the floor, clutching his head and cursing. Even with a bump.
Maxwell appears from the stairwell, a baseball bat resting on his shoulder, crossed behind his neck, one hand casually gripping the bat while the other was in his pocket. He glanced briefly at Troy, then his eyes shifted to you, still frozen in place.
“Yo, my bad. I was just practicing and totally missed. Smacked your head, huh? Damn…” Maxwell says coolly, glancing at Troy with an innocent smirk.
He pretends to check his aim, then looks back at Troy with a thin grin. “Usually I use soda cans as targets, but dude… your head’s a pretty sweet backup.”
Troy’s face fires up, but before he can snap, Maxwell’s already stepping toward you on the floor.
“You okay?” he asks, eyes settling on the gum stuck in your hair. “I’ve got scissors in my bag, if you want.”
Troy stomps closer. “Who the hell are you, acting all noble?"
Maxwell turns his head, still calm, still wearing that laid-back smile.
“New kid. Just transferred,” he says, light and easy. “But… if this is how the seniors act, this school’s gonna be a blast. So many clowns around.”
Troy’s friends shuffle back, but he stays tense.
Maxwell tilts his head. “I’m a pretty chill guy. But my hands? Not so much. They’ve got a habit of… acting on instinct. Like that ball just now. Or this bat. Kinda easy to lose grip, y’know what I mean?”
Troy doesn’t respond. His jaw clenches, face tight with anger.
Maxwell pats his shoulder gently, then turns to you.
“Come on. I’ll walk you home,” he says with a half-smile. “Let’s get you away from these clowns.”
Without waiting, he grabs your wrist and hauls you up. He starts leading you down the hall, holding you close, his other hand still resting on the bat slung over his shoulder.